


You Make Me Sick

by soundtracktomysoul



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 13:44:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18095444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundtracktomysoul/pseuds/soundtracktomysoul
Summary: The one where Bellamy is a huge fucking dork who can't keep his eyes off the beautiful blonde student aid in the library.





	You Make Me Sick

Someone was staring at her.

She could sense it. 

Yet when she tore her eyes away from the latest mystery novel she was engrossed in and noticed a boy with curly hair and glasses too big for his face peering back at her from across the room, she was surprised to say the least. Even more so, when he let out an honest-to-God squeak as he realized she'd caught him and turned his attention to the floor. 

He looked vaguely familiar and it took her a minute but she recognized him. 

He was a regular here in the library at Ark University where Clarke worked as a student aid and spent most of her free time. He was quiet and kept to himself. He always sat at the round table in the back with a coffee cup permanently stuck in his grasp and never actually checked out a book but instead opted for starting and finishing it right there. Sometimes he'd show up for a quick study session between classes and other times he'd stay until the sun came up the next day. 

She'd seen him around but never really noticed him. They'd never spoken. She didn't even know his name. But for some reason, now she found herself staring at him. 

\--------------------------------------

Clarke had caught him staring each time he came to the library after that. 

She didn't give it much more thought until, 

"Hi, uh, Clarke."

She held up a finger to whoever it was signaling to wait a moment while her eyes swept across the last page of her dystopian YA book, finishing it in one quick skim. 

She looked up, ready to address the person, and smirked when she saw it was him. 

"Well if it isn't the peeping Tom."

"What? No I wasn't — I didn't —" He stammered. 

It seemed like choking out that simple hello was a lot of effort for him so Clarke thought she should give him a break. 

"Dude, chill. I was just joking," She told him lightly. And you could see the relief on his face. "Since it seems like you're having trouble forming a coherent sentence, why don't we skip the pleasantries and you can just go ahead and tell me what you need?"

"Um," he said, "I — I wanted to ask you something."

"Can you act it out? Do you wanna draw a picture? May I buy a vowel?" She let out a laugh before pursing her lips in thought. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me. Seriously, what can I help you with?"

"Oh," he frowned. "Er..."

"Well surely you need something, right?" 

"Right," he nodded. "I need you to — to...check out this book for me."

"That's kinda my job so why not?" Clarke offered him a friendly smile, hoping to relax him. "What book?"

His eyes widened like he wasn't expecting that question.

"You don't have a book?" She questioned. 

"Of course I do!" He spun around and grabbed a random one from the cart passing by. "This one!" He declared, handing it to her with a satisfied smile. "It's my favorite."

Clarke looked between him and the book, confused. She scrunched up her eyebrows and tilted her head, looking curiously at him. "Are you sure about that?"

He just nodded dumbly. 

"The Pathway to Pregnancy: The Many Many Mysteries of the Woman's Menstrual Cycle by Marie Jane Taylor," Clarke read aloud, watching the boy's eyes widened with horror. 

"Hey, I'm not one to judge a choice of literature," Clarke bit her lip to keep from laughing, "No matter how fucking weird it is."

"Pregnancy?" He sputtered out, his face flushed. "Why would Octavia —?" He shook his head, muttering to himself before letting out a quiet gasp. "Lincoln," he practically growled, his eyes darkening. 

"Care to explain?" 

"You see, I'm — I'm not so good at talking to...you know...pretty girls," He admitted, letting out a long sigh, seemingly defeated.

"And here I thought you just weren't good at talking to people in general," Clarke snidely remarked. 

"Honestly, I just — I needed an excuse to talk to you," he mumbled, embarrassed. 

"Why?"

"Because I like you!" He blurted out, his eyes finally meeting hers. "You make faces while you read. And you're blunt and brash and beautiful all at the same time. And you're smart and intimidating. And I think your hair looks pretty in a braid." 

"So your master plan to woo me was to show me your interest in the female body?" Clarke asked, confused. 

"No!" He cried, his face flushing red. "I pretended to need a book. I just picked this one because I remember my sister reading this a few days ago and I recognized the cover. I didn't know it was about...that." He wrinkled his nose in disgust to which she rolled her eyes at because oh, grow up. 

"But why would Octavia be reading a book about pregnancy?" He continued. "She doesn't read anything but Cosmo. And then I thought about her boyfriend Lincoln who — by the way — is way too old for her and realized she must be pregnant so excuse me while I proceed to freak out."

"Okaaay," Clarke said slowly. "I'm not quite sure I caught all that but one, I think you're jumping to conclusions so just go home and ask your sister upfront if she's knocked up. Two, my hair totally does look good in a braid. Three, at least you're not stuttering anymore. And four, are you gonna check out the book or not?"

"Um no."

"Fine. Is there anything else you don't really need?"Clarke asked, desperate for the conversation to be over. 

"Well..." he hesitated, fidgeting with the chain of the necklace he wore. "I've already made a fool of myself in front of you anyway so it's not like I can make it worse." 

"Nice pep talk," she commented dryly. 

"Go on a date with me."

"And you made it worse," Clarke sighed. 

"Is that a yes?" He asked hopefully. 

"That's a hell no," she declared harshly. 

"Oh," he frowned. "Why not?" 

"Because this isn't a Jane Austen novel and I'm not gonna run off into the sunset with some stranger," she retorted. "I don't even know your name."

"Bellamy," he said immediately, "Bellamy Blake."

"Oh well in that case," Clarke pretended to think about it, "Still no." 

There was a tone of finality in her voice that Bellamy refused to acknowledge. 

\----------------------------------------------

"Octavia's not pregnant!"

"Who?" Clarke stopped shelving books to look at him. 

"My sister!" He told her.   
"She's not pregnant."  
"Oh...I'm sorry?" 

"No! That's a good thing, remember? It's a great thing!" he insisted. 

"Oh yeah," she nodded. "Then congratulations."

"Thank you," Bellamy was full-on grinning, "I was so happy I gave her my credit card and told her to go nuts...which in hindsight probably wasn't the best idea considering she's a borderline shopaholic."

"Aren't we all? Wait, you rewarded her for not being pregnant with money?" Clarke clarified. "Shit, I'm not pregnant either. Can I have your car?" 

Bellamy let out a laugh too loud for that meager joke. 

"Are those prescription glasses?" Clarke asked randomly, touching the rim of the thick lenses. 

"Oh. Um, no." He blushed unnecessarily. "I just think they make me look smarter."

"A bit pretentious, don't you think?" Clarke gently pulled them off his face and took a step back to examine him.   
"You should keep them off. You look cuter without them." She suggested casually before scurrying away to squeeze between another shelf. 

After that, Bellamy never wore those glasses again and allowed them to collect dust in the bottom drawer of his nightstand. 

Of course, he claimed Clarke had absolutely nothing to do with that. 

\----------------------------------------------

"Wow," Bellamy's now familiar voice remarked, "You look like hell."

Well he wasn't wrong. Clarke felt like hell.

Clarke was hunched over the front desk massaging her temples and shielding herself from the bright library fluorescence. Her hair was messily twisted into a bun and there were dark circles beneath her eyes. 

"You know you're growing on me more and more every day," she scowled, "Like a fungus."

Ignoring the jab at him, he let out a laugh. "Rough night?"

"You have no idea," Clarke groaned. "Raven decided I needed to stop holing myself up at this library and have some fun so — much to my dismay — she took me out clubbing. I have fun, okay? I just prefer to do it at home where it's nice and quiet and I don't have to wear pants. But when I told her that, all she said was that I don't have to wear pants to the club either and winked — actually winked! And God, it was awful. Murphy tried to shove his tongue down my throat and I had half a mind not to rip it out his mouth and throw it at him. We ran into Finn of all people — that bastard — which automatically put Raven into a shitty mood so she got completely trashed which means I had to spend the entire night babysitting her and making sure she didn't jump up on the bar and take her top off again."

Despite not knowing any of the people she mentioned or the story behind them, he listened intently. 

"After I dragged her ass back to our apartment around 3:00 a.m, I definitely needed a drink. And one drink eventually turned into me falling asleep on the couch while watching The Golden Girls and cuddling a bottle of cheap tequila that tasted about as good as Monty's last batch of moonshine," She sighed, shaking her head with shame. "And I was running late this morning so I didn't even get to stop at Starbucks so from how terrible I feel right now, I'd sell my grandmother for an Advil."

"Unfortunately, I have no painkillers on me but I do have an extra latte," He slid a cup towards her. 

"You bought me coffee?" She raised an eyebrow questioningly. 

"Oh please. This is pure sugar, not coffee," Bellamy corrected, "And I didn't buy it just for you. It was...for a friend."

"A friend?" She scoffed in disbelief. 

"Yes, I do have friends." He mocked. 

"I was meeting up with them but they cancelled last minute so I'm left with this diabetes in a cup. I thought you'd want it." He shrugged, leaning against the desk as an attempt to look casual. 

"Venti quad, half caffe breve, with whip, no foam, two splenda stirred skinny, three pump vanilla mocha latte with a caramel drizzle?" Clarke said after hesitantly taking a sip of the familiar drink.   
"So your friend just happens to also like my obnoxiously complicated signature drink that I get every morning?" She asked skeptically, giving him a pointed look. 

"What a coincidence," He feigned innocence. 

With her hands on her hips, she narrowed her eyes at him. 

"Okay so I may have bribed the barista to tell me the pretty blonde's girl's usual," he admitted, embarrassed.   
Bellamy waited for her to scold him or at least start teasing but when Clarke opened her mouth, she paused and took another sip, rolling her eyes, and letting out a begrudging, "Thanks." 

\----------------------------------------------

"No! I don't care, Mom!"

Bellamy heard her before he saw her. 

Even through the dull roar of the rain pattering violently, her voice echoed. He was surprised to find Clarke standing outside under the small shade near the entrance of the library rather than squished between bookshelves or leaned over the desk with a pencil behind her ear as usual. 

"Stop it. I'm not going to change my mind." She was facing the wall with her cell phone pressed up against one ear and a finger plugged in the other to drown out the noise. "This is my life! I stopped looking for your approval a long time ago...That's not fair! I'm trying to — No, you listen! I won't — Oh okay! You're one to talk...I'm so sick of this! Whatever. Just don't expect me to see me there...Fine! Bye!" 

She stabbed the 'end call' button and paced back and forth, still too preoccupied to notice Bellamy watching her. 

Hesitantly, he called out, "Clarke?" 

"What?!" She snapped, spinning around to face him and huffing angrily. Her eyes softened when she saw him. "Oh. Hey Bellamy." 

"You okay?" 

"Yeah, no, I'm fine. I was just..." Clarke waved it off with a hand gesture. 

"We don't have to talk about if you don't want to," he offered. 

"Thanks," she sighed in relief. 

"But if you do," Bellamy said. "I'm here to listen."

She nodded appreciatively, giving him a genuine smile. 

"Now come on. You're all wet. Let's go inside before you catch hypothermia." Bellamy shrugged off his jacket and draped it around her without a second thought before protectively putting his hand on the small of her back and leading her in. 

Considering there was a storm brewing outside and it was the night before the start of Christmas break, the library was nearly empty save for Helen the librarian, a guy on the computer with music playing so loud you could hear it through his headphones, and a girl in the back who looked like she was seconds away from passing out from exhaustion. 

"So what are you still doing on campus?" Clarke broke the silence after we both took a seat on the couch. "I figured you and Octavia would be on your way home to visit your family by now."

"Uh, well, there's not any family for us to visit," Bellamy explained, scratching his head. "My mom passed a few years back from cancer and I never knew my dad. All I really have is my sister."

"Dude, I'm sorry. That sucks." Clarke sympathized.

He shrugged like, yeah well what can you do?

There was a moment of silence. 

"My dad's dead," Clarke blurted out. "It was a car accident less than a year ago. And from the conversation you heard outside, you can pretty much guess how my relationship with my mom is. That's why I don't go home. We've never really seen eye to eye, me and her. But it's gotten worse after my dad was gone. He was always playing mediator between the two of us. Now I sorta blame her for his death and she resents me for leaving and doing everything she never wanted me to do."

"What? Going to decent college and becoming successful?" Bellamy asked, confused. 

"No, dropping out of med school to go to a non-ivy league public college and become an artist," Clarke corrected, "which is why she cut me off from all the money my dad left me and why Sunday night family formal dinner where I get chastised for my posture and have to use four different forks aren't really at the top of my priority list."

"No offense but your mom sounds like a total douche." 

Clarke barked out a laugh at that. 

"Hey," she said suddenly. "Can I draw you?"

"What?"

"I just really feel like I have to capture your constellation of freckles and curly mess of hair right now. So can I draw you?" She asked again. 

"Um. Sure, I guess."   
Bellamy's face broke into a smile. "But if you draw me like one of your French girls, I'm gonna have to ask for a copy to marvel at my own beauty."

"Okay, princess. Keep your pants on — literally." Clarke rolled her eyes as she pulled out her sketchpad from her bag. 

"Princess? You're the prissy trust fund brat that spends her days reading fantasy fairy tale novels," Bellamy pointed out. 

"Well you're not wrong," she agreed. 

So Clarke sketched Bellamy while he made ridiculous model poses that had her muffling her giggles with the palm of her hand. And they talked. A lot. They swapped stories from their childhood. He told her about his mom, Octavia, Miller, and Murphy. She told him about her dad, Raven, Wells, Monty, and Jasper. He even learned the treacherous story of Finn Collins and the Incident of '08 when Raven accidentally burned off her eyebrows. He explained how he got that scar on his stomach and she recounted the story of how she spent three days in a hospital because of a Jonty prank. His eyes lit up as he animatedly recited a Roman history story or a Greek mythology tragedy. He saw her blush for the first time as he streamed a chain of endless compliments after flipping through the pages of her sketchpad. She even let him braid her hair. 

They ended their night with Bellamy's arm getting stuck up the vending machine in the lounge while Clarke recorded him on Snapchat, laughing at him, and not doing a damn thing to help. 

He never did get that candy bar. 

\----------------------------------------------

It was nearing one o'clock in the morning and Bellamy was awakened to loud, rapid knocking on his front door. 

He considered not answering it — half out of laziness and half out of fear because anyone who ever came over phoned ahead or was delivering a pizza.

But whoever it was was persistent as well as annoying. 

So Bellamy scrambled out of bed without bothering to put on a shirt and squinted through the peephole. He unlocked the latch and swung the door open, very confused. 

"Clarke?" He asked, still disoriented from his slumber. 

Of all the people it could've been, he would've never expected Clarke Griffin, out of breath and standing before him with flushed cheeks, in a modest, fancy, flown blue dress that matched her eyes, with smudged makeup, and her hair in a messy up-do. 

Although she looked like she belonged in a country club at the moment, which didn't seem very much like Clarke, she looked beautiful nonetheless. 

And nervous. Which made Bellamy nervous because he's never seen her look so scared and vulnerable. 

Her eyes trailed down to his bare torso for a moment before snapping back up. 

"Um. Nice bed head."

"Clarke?" He said again. "What the hell? What are you doing here? How do even you know where I live?"

"Raven hacked into the school system and searched up your address...which I know now was a bit extreme but..." she trailed off with a shrug. 

"So why'd you go through all that trouble to come find me? What's up?"

"Oh. Right. Um." Clarke shook her head, mentally preparing herself. "Okay, look. You're not my type. You're the complete opposite of my type. You're shy and quiet and brooding and a huge fucking dork."

"Er...so you came all the way here at one in the morning to insult me?" Bellamy looked taken back, not at all sure where this conversation was going. 

"No! Just shut up and listen." Clarke took a deep breath and started again. "Maybe the fact that you're not my type is a good thing because my past experiences proves that my type are huge assholes. And I didn't plan any of this. I didn't plan to meet you. I didn't plan to like you. And I certainly didn't plan to fall for you. But you came out of nowhere with your stuttering and your blushing and your nerdy fucking glasses. But I haven't gotten laid in way too long so I wrote it off as lust, but then we started talking. And I'd never been so raw and open with someone. I told you things I haven't told people I've known for years. We had genuine intellectual conversations about politics and literature and art. You were sweet and made me laugh. So I couldn't deny it anymore. I...like you. Like I actually like-like you which hasn't happened since, well, Finn. And now I feel like I'm quite literally sick. I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't even think straight. I'm smiling more and I blush and there's this weird thing that makes my stomach all light and fluttery. And most of all, I'm really fucking scared. So I guess what I'm saying is...you make me sick, Bellamy."

A minute went by. Then another. And another. 

"Dude, say something before I scream." 

"I'm just trying to figure out if I'm dreaming," Bellamy grinned, "because you've been making me sick since the first time I saw you."

Clarke's face involuntarily lit up. "Go on a date with me."

"Hmm," Bellamy teased, "I don't know. This isn't a Jane Austen novel and I'm not gonna run off into the sunset with some stranger."

Clarke smirked and leaned in to whisper in his ear seductively, "Well then I suppose you can spend all night getting to know me. Every inch of me."

With that, he pulled her in until she was up against him, cupped her face with his hand, and smashed his lips against hers. She was caught by surprise and made an honest-to-God squeak. But it didn't take long for her to throw her arms around his neck, fingering one of the curls on the back of his head, and kiss back. 

She smiled. And he smiled at her smile.


End file.
